My mind is a maze
by sherlocks-skeletal-warlock
Summary: Prompt 4: Insides. John and Sherlock end up tied up in a drug dealing case and Sherlock gets hurt but how will he leave his own head?


My mind is a maze

Breathing heavy, eyes wide, heart pumping, they fled from the gang of drug dealers. Sherlock noted with boredom that this particular case may have been slightly too far. He'd only agreed to take it on because he had been so bored that several times John had kicked him out of the flat on the idea that he was behaving 'irrationally.' Maybe it had been the sudden increase in experiments or possibly the disappearance of John's favourite jumper (It was an experiment! He did intend to give it back… If he could remember where he had stashed it) that had prompted John's foul mood and insistence that Sherlock find himself a case. Drug dealers were not as interesting as murders but Sherlock was beginning to change his opinions as they hurtled through the backstreets of London.

Suddenly, as the detective and his blogger wheeled around the corner, Sherlock smashed straight into a large angry-looking man. Now, Sherlock wasn't short but this thug that he was facing made him look positively diminutive. John had been apprehended by the rest of the drug dealing gang who had caught up.

"Oh," said Sherlock. "John?"

"Here," John said gruffly and there was the unmistakable sound of a gun being armed. Feeling him tense slightly behind him, Sherlock deduced that John had not brought his gun with him. Right, he thought, 5 or 6 men behind, 4 in front and John at his back. This could be possibly a problematic situation.

"John, 5, 6, 7, and 9 o clock," he hissed.

"Go!" John yelled and Sherlock dived under his arm. He knocked out the guy with the gun and kicked a second in the stomach. Just as he was about to deal with a third man, Sherlock felt the sting of a hypodermic needle in his left arm and immediately his vision began to dull over.

"Jaaaahnnn?" he slurred and as he turned, his legs seemed to liquefy. He knees hit the rough tarmac but he heard John run over. Knowing that he would only come to him if there was no danger, Sherlock collapsed into John and he vaguely felt John holding him up.

"Sherlock?!" John's voice was distant and yet fearful.

"Jaaaaa…"

"Okay, okay. Stay with me, Sherlock. I'm calling an ambulance." The pressure of John's had on his shoulder receded and it scared Sherlock how little he could feel of his body. He couldn't move and John voice was becoming more and more distant as oblivion pulled him under.

John froze as Sherlock went limp in his arms.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" he gasped. "Don't leave me…" Time seemed to slow down as John frantically tried to define what they had injected into Sherlock's bloodstream. Nothing was coming to mind when he thought of the previous murders they had discovered tied up in the case. All the victims had been dosed with belladonna; an intriguing poison for a drug group to use but Sherlock had believed that it had been to cover their tracks. Nobody would suspect a drug ring of using a medieval poison to kill. Before John could melt down with fear, there was the unmistakable sound of a siren and an ambulance turned the corner. Paramedics ran out and pulled Sherlock from John's arms. This was too much for John and he began gabbling as many details as possible and wouldn't let Sherlock out of his sight. Eventually, the paramedics realised that the ex-army doctor wouldn't leave his detective and so they let him ride in ambulance as they took Sherlock to St Bartholomew's hospital.

Sherlock couldn't move. He couldn't even open his eyes and yet he could hear everything going on. How dull, he thought, a coma. Concentrating hard, he could hear John talking to the doctor or the nurse. It didn't really matter; John was there. If he strained, he could hear their conversation.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Watson but he was injected with enough belladonna to kill an entire household. Mr Holmes is fighting very hard but it is unlikely he will ever wake up."

"No," John said quietly. "He's Sherlock Holmes. He will beat all the odds; he always he does." John's faith in him created a little spark in his head and Sherlock knew that he would fight. For John. Because John believed in him. He heard John sit down next to him and begin to talk quietly.

"I know you can hear me, Sherlock, so get your lazy arse out of bed. There are cases to be solved."

Sherlock would have laughed if he could but then he heard the change in John's voice.

"Seriously, Sherlock. I need you to wake up. Don't leave me here hanging. Don't go where I can't follow." His voice broke at the end and Sherlock could tell from his breathing that John was crying. Imagine that. Loyal, brave, strong John Watson crying. And for him.

About 3 days later, John walked in after getting the fifth or sixth coffee in the same amount of hours. He sat back down by Sherlock's bedside, rubbing his tired eyes.

"You know, John Watson, that insomnia can kill you." A weak, raspy and yet (to John's ears) beautiful voice snuck out from the oxygen mask that currently covered his best friend's face. John turned so fast that he almost hurt himself and gazed into Sherlock's grey eyes.

"Hello, old friend," John said and he wasn't surprised or happy to hear his voice crack slightly.

"Hello, my ever faithful companion."


End file.
